


Figure Skater Hockey Player

by CockAsInTheBird



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, Slurs, Tumblr Prompt, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25240147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CockAsInTheBird/pseuds/CockAsInTheBird
Summary: It's 5am in the fucking morning, the sun hasn't even started peeking out from the pine tree horizon, and Steve sighs with exasperation as he recognizes a distinct blue camaro parked as the only other car here that doesn't belong to the faculty.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	Figure Skater Hockey Player

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I reblogged a prompt on tumblr about a Figure Skater/Hockey Player au, and had an anon practically BEG ME to write something for it, so here we are!

It's 5am when Steve pulls up to the skating rink. He's been awake since 4 o'clock, had a healthy breakfast of yogurt topped with fresh berries and nuts, drank several cups of coffee, not counting the one currently sitting in the BMW's cup-holder.

When he finds time in the mornings to practice before school, he wears a pair of tight joggers pants on top of his racer-back unitard, because more than once has he been late for school due to how caught up he gets in his training, and quickly learned to wear something that can fit underneath jeans and a polo when there's no time for a shower.

Yeah it's 5am in the fucking morning, the sun hasn't even started peeking out from the pine tree horizon, and Steve sighs with _exasperation_ as he recognizes a distinct blue camaro parked as the only other car here that doesn't belong to the faculty.

Two months ago, Billy Hargrove and his little family had moved to town. The two of them had never really spoken to one another yet, but apparently he made quite the impression at Tina's Halloween party when he did a keg stand and beat _someone's record;_ Steve doesn't care, doesn't drink.

No his coach has him on a pretty strict _life schedule_. Eat this, wear that, practice every day like your life depends on it. And honestly? It feels like it does. Because Steve knows he's not exactly “book smart” or _whatever_ , but becoming an Olympic figure skater is something far more feasible than him getting into any college.

So he puts on his _expensive_ , dark green Ralph Lauren overcoat, grabs his bag with skates and a change of clothes, then leaves the warmth of his car to trudge through tall snow.

Steve walks straight from the front hall and into the rink, drops his bag with a loud thud onto a bench, and follows right along to sit down and tear off his untied boots still adorned with thick snow, just to swiftly replace them with his skates and lace them up nice and tight.

He stands up and looks around, breathes calmly so that it wouldn't interfere with how attentively he listens for even one single sound in the whole building, lifts his head in hopes of getting a better look around. He saw the fucking car, _Billy's car_ , and that can only mean that he's _somewhere around_ , but... it's completely silent; dead as the grave and empty like school on a Sunday.

But why would he even be here? At the Hawkins Ice Rink? Maybe he's just parked there because it's conveniently close to some other destination, such as... _it doesn't matter_.

What matters is the ice, freshly resurfaced and _ready_ to taste the steel of Steve's polished skates, the blade sharp enough to cut through wood in one simple swoop.

He stands up, walks with perfected practice to where carpet changes to ice, pulls the headband from his neck and into his hair, and-

Smoothly pushes off, gently over the frozen water, white and shiny.

There is an instant satisfaction; a serene bliss that brings him from the dark and gloomy life he leads with a disgruntled dad and homophobic slurs, into the light of what his future will be, filled with gold medals and roses at his feet, fans cheering in the stands as the judges holds up 10 10 10's across the board, so far away from shitty little Hawkins, Indiana, to the Olympics in France, Italy, Switzerland, Japan, who knows where to next.

Feels the wind in his hair as he picks up the speed, hears how his blades cuts through the ice below, and if he closes his eyes he's convinced that this is what flying must feel like, what _true freedom_ is. To move effortlessly, to soar.

And he opens his eyes then, to gaze over his shoulder as he does an easy turn to glide across the rink backwards. He moves towards the middle, picking up speed, hair whipping back, and he lifts up his foot, jumps _majestically_ into the air, arms pulled close as he twirls around like a ballerina with wings, then lands back on the same foot, continuing across the ice.

 _A perfect triple toe loop_.

He knows very well how _beautiful_ that looks. Sure it's an easy jump, nothing that will win him any prizes, but it has become such an effortless thing now that it _feels incredibly freeing_.

Transitions with no stuttering movement into a simple camel spin; one leg extended into the air in parallel form with the ice and his torso at the same level, forming a tight T with his body as he turns around himself with the world in a pretty blur before his eyes.

But he nearly loses all balance, as a voice echoes loudly-

“What the fuck are you doing here, Harrington?”

And Billy stands by the edge of the rink, leaning against the railing, a wry grin cut across his face, mullet tied back in a bun. He's dressed head to toe in hockey gear, his helmet in hand.

Steve's heart beats so hard and fast that it's beyond _painful_. Slightly breathless from his warm up, mouth open and hands on his hips. He has competed several times in front of a full audience, worn clothes tighter than these, yet he has never felt so _unnecessarily exposed_ before.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” he shouts back and rolls his eyes, wanting to ignore the brute laughing at him, but his gaze falls right back to where Billy now pushes onto the ice.

There's a safe distance between them now, but Billy continues moving closer, so Steve starts moving away, backwards still with his hands firmly on his hips.

“How long were you staring for?”

Their pace is calm as Billy follows right in Steve's tracks.

“What? Think I been standin' there _admiring the view_?” his tone mocking, grin just so, but the way his tongue darts out is almost... _suggestive?_ “I went to get in gear, and when I come back there's some _fairy_ prancing around on the ice here.”

“Didn't know our school has a hockey team.” Steve decides to let the remark slip, but that's become such an easy thing from bullies like this Californian trash bag.

“We don't. But there's a local club that plays a few times a month, and basket gets boring quick when you're this good at it.” Billy lowers his brow and his grin grows _wicked_. “Hockey is much more... _brutal_.”

And he picks up the pace. Steve too, but Billy doesn't stop; continues to go faster, now so close that Steve can see just how clear blue those eyes are, pinned to his own honeyed brown.

Billy gives Steve a crude _shove_ with his shoulder as he passes him by; sending the figure skater spinning a few times before he's now the follower, and Billy sticks out his tongue between shiny teeth as he notices Steve giving chase.

Faster again till their hair starts dancing in the wind, and with long, gracious strides, Steve's up next to where Billy is grinning something so dangerously. And the brunette can't help but smile as well, although less maniacally so.

“You got a shitty form, Hargrove,” Steve says as he scans the way Billy's slightly hunched over, legs all too far apart, elbows out.

“Oh so you _are_ looking then?” Billy laughs and winks with those thousands of eyelashes.

And Steve feels himself nearly smile as wide as all the girls do when Billy turns his charm their way.

“Hockey isn't about being all _queer_ and _graceful_ , it's about being tough with a low center of gravity.”

Ignoring the slur, Steve asks, “You think I'm 'graceful'?” and grins all cocky.

But Billy's own lips fall from where they were curled around his mustache. “Yeah, like a fucking _girl_.”

“And you don't like girls?” Steve laughs now, and the sudden anger in Billy's eyes only makes it even more amusing.

“I do,” his tone is flat.

“Then I'll take it as a compliment.” Steve is almost convinced he catches a nervous smile on Billy's lips at those words, but the jock speeds up before he's too sure.

And Steve does too, faster even, surpassing Billy far enough so that he can safely make a _sudden curve_ in front of him. _Loves_ the little shocked “fuck!” as Billy brakes.

Steve then turns to look at the hockey player, who's _smiling_ and following along with rampant speed, something that _will hurt_ if he could get to _slam_ into Steve, but with _grace_ he swerves out of the way of the raging bull.

Billy shaves the ice when he makes a recklessly sharp turn, and aims for Steve once more with his tongue out and wagging, eyes wide with intent.

A smile spreads on Steve's face at how _eager_ Billy continues being with this little dance they're doing, and sets off towards him. Sweat is starting to form on his brow, and maybe his thighs and hips are quivering slightly, but this is so _exhilarating_ and _fun_.

Billy braces himself for collision, and Steve bends forward, their eyes frozen together in an intense stare in a game of chicken. But seconds before they would have broken each others noses no doubt, Steve slips aside once more with a flourish.

Yet feels a hand grip on to his own, as Billy makes a _shocking smooth_ curve around to reach for Steve's hand, but with no preparation between either of them for such a move, they spin out of control for a few short seconds, both of them struggling on uncertain feet to find a common rhythm, before they fall onto the ice.

The hit Steve takes to the back of his head hurts all the way in his teeth, and his entire face pinches together in a pained grimace. He _knows_ this is going to turn into a headache that will last him for the rest of his day. Lying still with exhaustion and pain on the chilled ground, he feels air blowing across his skin, and when he opens his eyes...

Billy's only inches away. Out of breath, panting with an open mouth and a _near terrified_ look in his pale eyes, as he stares down at Steve, hands on either sides of a quickly _reddening face_.

They share air in silence for far too long before Billy says, “In hockey, always predict your opponents moves.” And he stands up.

Steve raises up on his elbows as he watches Billy slowly skate away, something so hesitant about his moves now, no more macho bravado to his posture.

But he stops with a hand on the glass of the rink, and looks over his shoulder at where Steve remains floored. This far away, he can't tell his expression, but can clearly hear the words-

“ _See you next time, pretty boy_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly it was a lot of fun to write, but it's been a month or so and I have nothing more to add to it  
> Come find me on tumblr!  
> https://cockasinthebird.tumblr.com/


End file.
